“… Oh,” I managed as I thought what she was saying through. Then I realized something else. My head ticked back, and I looked at Max and Sarah.
“She’s his memory, a safe port in the storm. No matter what else happens in his life, Sarah will always remember,” Bridgette explained. As she did, she winced. Without shifting her gaze off me, she plunged a hand into the pocket of her jacket, grabbed out a dressing, pulled up her top, and placed it over her stomach.
That’s when I noticed the massive wound right up the middle of her tummy. It looked as if someone had tried to slice her through.
I jerked back. “Oh my god. You’re injured! What happened?”
She chuckled softly. “Last night happened, remember? I used my magic – a heck of a lot of my magic – to fight off that faceless assassin. And this,” she gestured to her wound as she continued to change the dressing, “is the consequence of my powers.”
I felt thoroughly sick as I stared at the gaping wound.
Bridgette simply shrugged. “All magic has consequences. Nothing comes for free. And the more we use our magic, the more it costs. That’s why we have to stick together and help each other. And that’s why I’m seriously thankful for your help last night.”
I smiled. Kind of. Because a question was looming in my mind: why didn’t my magic have consequences? Sure, it had consequences if I went against the curse, but I didn’t lose my memories or get sliced in half every time I saw the future.
Before I could turn to Bridgette and ask, there was a loud, insistent knocking on the door.
Bridgette frowned, jumped to her feet, raced over, and thrust the door open.
A pale-faced young man stood there, shaking. “We’ve received a warning,” he said through a stutter.
I watched Sarah press to her feet, one hand locked over the back of the chaise longue, her fingers stiff and white. “What? From whom?”
My stomach suddenly bottomed out.
Fagan.
It would have to be from Fagan.
I pressed forward on my seat, feeling my cheeks pale.
The young man was holding something, and with another shake, he handed it to Bridgette.
A deep frown cut across Bridgette’s face. She reached out, clutched the letter, nodded at the guy, and closed the door.
She made eye contact with Sarah before walking over.
The two of them stood in the center of the room, shoulders hunched as they stared at the letter.
My heart was hammering in my chest, my breath caught in my throat. I was sitting there on the edge of my seat, unsure whether I should push to my feet and follow my curiosity, or follow my sanity and stay firmly seated.
“What is it?” Max said as he pushed to his feet and walked over.
“It’s from Fagan,” Sarah said, swallowing through her words.
Max stiffened. Even from here I could practically hear his muscles twang.
“Read it,” he demanded.
Sarah hesitated then finally turned the letter over, opened it carefully, and pulled out a white, folded piece of paper.
My stomach absolutely bottomed out. Hello, it felt as if someone had climbed inside my torso and dug the thing free of my abdominal cavity.
I slammed a hand on my belly, pushing the fingers against the fabric of my rumpled shirt.
Somehow I knew what that letter would say. No, it wasn’t my ability to see the future that was helping me out. Just my reason, just logic.
It would be a demand, wouldn’t it? A demand for me. Give me up, and Fagan would stop hunting Sarah Anne’s witches. Or, fail to give me up, and he’d kill everyone.
I felt my heart kick through my chest as I kept my hand crammed against my stomach.
A second later, I heard Sarah hiss between her clenched teeth.
Max swore, pushed back, locked a hand over his brow, pressed his fingers through his hair, and finally made eye contact with me. It was brief, though, almost as if he couldn’t bear to hold my gaze for too long.
I sat there, as cold as the Arctic.
Bridgette shook her head. “It’s a lie. He’s trying to bait us. There is no way—”
“What does the letter say?” I couldn’t keep hold of my curiosity any longer. I placed a hand on the armrest of the chair and pushed up. I didn’t, however, let go of the armrest – I couldn’t. My knees felt like jelly, my muscles as weak as if I were a newborn baby.
Nobody answered me. It was as if they hadn’t heard me. They all congregated around the letter, all as pale and drawn as each other.
“What does the letter say?” I demanded once more.
They ignored me.
“He’s just baiting us,” Bridgette said once more, crossing her arms, taking several steps back, and shrugging – the move so tense it was as if her shoulders would tear through the old leather of her jacket. “There’s no reason to fall for this.”
Sarah seemed incapable of answering.
Max? He was looking at me. Not directly, just out of the corner of his eye. I could feel his gaze, though, feel his tension.
I couldn’t take it any longer. I walked over, feet unsteady, but balance holding on long enough to reach their sides. “What does the letter say? It’s about me, isn’t it?” I managed.
They all turned to look at me.
“You saw the future?” Max pressed.
I shook my head. “No, it just makes sense. Fagan wants me, and he’s worried you’re going to keep me from him. So it’s a threat, isn’t it?” My voice trailed off,
